"You want me to what?" Rodimus whispered incredulously. "I'm sorry. I heard something that you couldn't have possibly said. What was that again?"
"It's not much of a request, Rodimus." Prowl sighed patiently. "All I am asking of you is to watch him for us. At least until we figure out what to do with him."
"Overlord. As in like, Overlord. The murderer, torturer, and war criminal. Who's supposed to be dead."
"That would be him, yes," Prowl murmured, examining his hands absently.
"Does 'spark-suffocated-in-a-whiteout-vacuum' ring a bell? How is he alive?" Rodimus tried desperately to grasp the situation, casting worried glances at Drift, who sat by his side. "So he's alive, then, and you... Want him to be on my ship? On my ship. My ship that's going to be full of innocent and quite possibly vulnerable people. Let me think about it for a second," Rodimus paused, feigning thought. "Absolutely not. Why would you even- Why would you suggest that? Why would you need to keep him alive? Much less transport him on my ship, Prowl. What are you plotting?" Rodimus asked, pinching the bridge of his nose and shuttering his optics.
Prowl leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers together as he spoke. "People say the war is over. Ask anyone who believes your hype." He watched Rodimus with that— that awful trademark Prowl look that only he can pull off with such accuracy. Rodimus had to resist the urges that screamed punch this smug afthole in the face, which proved to become more and more difficult the longer he stared at him. Prowl's optics were lulled in a state of almost audible mockery, and his mouth curled at the corners into the absolute most infuriating of smiles. Rodimus breathed deeply, air hissing out of his gritted teeth. "But me? I'm not pretending. There could be a Decepticon resurgence at any time. The war isn't over. It never will be."
"And Overlord plays into this... how?" Drift sighed, speaking up for Rodimus, who looked like he was about to stand up and punch a hole in the nearest wall.
"Isn't it obvious?" Prowl crooned. Rodimus' frame tensed up. His optics widened and his lips pursed to hold in what could have been a string of profanities. Isn't it obvious. So god damned smug. Where do you get off, Prowl? "Overlord was— is— what many refer to as a 'phase-sixer'. Something about him makes him extraordinary."
"Get to the point, Prowl," Rodimus groaned.
Prowl's attention shifted patiently to Rodimus, the smug grin fading back into existential crossness. "Of course. How could I have been so rude as to ramble. While you're staring at the ground. While I am speaking," he purred. Rodimus cocked his head backwards, suppressing a yell. "Eyes up here, please." Rodimus stared daggers directly at Prowl and gritted his teeth behind pursed lips. "Thank you. Now, as I was saying. Phase-sixers have something about them that makes them special. Maybe that special thing is that they're brilliant, maybe it's that they're strong, maybe just something that 'breaks the mold', as it were. What I want to do is: Crack Overlord open. See what makes phase-sixers so special. And, maybe, figure out how to make one for our side."
Rodimus let out a long sigh. "No." His vocalizer cracked as he spoke and he froze, knowing that Prowl would tear him apart for it.
"You're not scared, are you?" Prowl mocked, smirking at the soon-to-be captain. Rodimus flinched at the word. He wasn't scared. He was being completely rational. And not scared. "You owe it to us. To me, to the Autobots... You're setting off on your own little fantasy adventure with your crew of misfits and ne'er-do-wells to search for the nonexistent— sorry, legendary— Knights of Cybertron," Drift grimaced as Prowl rambled. "Your lot just leaves me and Bumblebee and the rest here to clean up after the war. And you? You won't take on this tiny bit of responsibility. If I weren't as nice as I am, I suppose I'd call you a coward." Rodimus grit his teeth and clenched his fists, his frame tensing up.
"Out of line, Prowl." Drift hissed. "It's not cowardice, it's reason. Why in Primus' name would anyone even think for a second about agreeing to take Overlord aboard their ship?" He glanced over at Rodimus, who stared down at his servos in consideration. "Rodimus?" Rodimus met Drift's gaze, soon looking away and placing a hand to his mouth. "Absolutely not," Drift whispered. "Don't even think about saying yes to this. Do you realize how ridiculous this is? How fundamentally wrong agreeing to this would be on every possible level?"
"He called me a coward, Drift," Rodimus huffed quietly in reply.
"This is not about you, Rodimus!" Drift hissed. "You should have left your ego at the door. This is serious. Don't let him get to you."
"Drift! Look at him! Listen to him! How could this not get to me!?"
"And this is exactly what he wants. You'll get mad and do something rash. Don't let him win."
"...I hate when you're right," Rodimus groaned, still speaking in a hushed tone to Drift. Prowl watched impatiently. He cleared his throat, calling back the attention of the two mechs in front of him. They turned their heads in synchronization to face him, optics wide and lips pursed.
"If you're done with your little lovers' quarrel, I'd like to shift the conversation back to the topic at hand," Prowl sighed. "I'll ask one more time. Consider it, Rodimus. If you're too scared, you can say no." Drift glanced over to a fuming Rodimus, shaking his head very subtly.
"I'll think about it." Rodimus stood up, and Drift did the same, ready to restrain him if he went to punch something (or someone). "We're leaving. Now."
"Consider it," Prowl sighed. "Get back to me soon."
"Right," Rodimus spat, not looking back as he stormed out of Prowl's office. Drift followed directly behind, hushing Rodimus as he murmured another string of unintelligible swearing
"You're not seriously thinking about this, are you, Rodimus?" Drift sighed, shuffling down the corridor from Prowl's office and following Rodimus in close retinue.
"No. Of course not. Never," Rodimus lied. "I mean, Overlord? On my ship? What would we even have to gain from a phase-sixer anymore? We don't need to do any more fighting, do we? The war's over, whether Prowl wants to believe it or not. But..." Rodimus hesitated. "What if he's right?"
Drift sighed, casting a conflicted glance downward at his pedes. "As much as I hate to say this, Prowl does make a good point. The war might be over, yes, but the losing team might be a little unhappy with the results." He looked at the mech to his side, understanding glinting in his optics. "I know you're considering it. And I trust your judgement, Rodimus. Make whatever decision you think is best."
"I don't think I really know enough to decide yet," Rodimus groaned. "I'm assuming he won't just be a casual passenger... We have to meet with Prowl again. And I don't want to just walk back in there all like, 'Hey, Prowl! We changed our minds! Maybe taking in a murderer isn't that bad of an idea after all! Where do we sign?'. Because that's just letting him win. I don't want to let him win." He sighed deeply, holding a hand up to cover his face in worry. "God, just— The more I think about it, the less I want to let it happen. This whole situation is surreal."
"Rodimus, I want you to do what you think has to be done." The corridor fell silent, and Drift watched Rodimus patiently.
"I don't know what has to be done," Rodimus whined, covering his face. "He's trying to guilt me, you know. All that scrap about how I owe it to him, how I'm just... He thinks I'm running away, doesn't he? Bee as well. They think I'm just dropping out now that there's work to be done back home." Rodimus grimaced. "Casting away the responsibility. But we don't belong here anymore, Drift. Cybertron's reborn or whatever, but..." He sighed, leaning backwards onto a corridor wall. He slipped down into an exasperated rest, pressing his digits into his temples. "I hate this, Drift. I hate how he won't just take me seriously for even a second."
"I know." Drift breathed as he sat down next to Rodimus. "He's wrong about you, at the very least, Rodimus." The swordsmech turned to Rodimus as he rested a hand on his thigh. "You're not weak. You're not a coward." He gave a heartfelt smile, meeting the other mech' gaze. Rodimus' frame tensed and a shiver trickled through his spinal strut as Drift leaned over and planted a quick kiss on a pointed finial.
"Drift!" Rodimus blushed, shooting a quick glance down the hallway. He turned back to face the swordsmech. The pair grinned mischievously as Rodimus snickered and locked optics with Drift, gesturing to his lap. Drift happily obliged, scooting over and resting between Rodimus' thighs. They still looked at each other as Drift's hands moved slowly to Rodimus' hips.
"Captain?" Drift sighed, smirking.
Rodimus' optics widened. "Oh man. That sounded nice. Say that again." He pressed his lips to Drift's, melting into a kiss.
Drift broke away from the embrace for a moment, leaning in closer to Rodimus to whisper into his audial. They pressed their frames together, their biolights casting a gentle glow in the dim hallway. "Captain," Drift whispered again.
Rodimus sighed and shuttered his optics. "Your voice is so beautiful, Drift," he whispered, his head lulling backwards as Drift teased at his neck cables with his tongue. "Keep talking."
"Rodimus," Drift breathed, practically moaning. Rodimus smiled as he heard the syllables of his name drip from Drift's mouth. He pulled Drift in closer. "Prowl can hear us," Drift sighed, straightening his spinal strut and running his digits along Rodimus' spoilers.
"I— Ew? Ew." His frame tensed again, and he pushed Drift away a bit. "Say things that aren't that." Rodimus hesitated, glancing again down the hallway. "Oh, god. He probably can... I bet he'll punch a wall or something if he sees two mechs he hates making out in the general proximity of his office."
Drift grinned. "Let's go do it on his desk."
"Oh my god. No," Rodimus laughed, touching Drift's hand as the swordsmech stood up. "He'll flip a table while we're still on it." Drift helped him to his feet. Rodimus glanced down the hall again, groaning as Prowl approached.
"Considering that you two found it necessary to linger near my office, I'd expect that you were planning on coming back to speak to me again?" Prowl said, eyes narrowed and arms crossed.
"Tell me, Prowl. Does that pole up your ass ever hurt you?" Drift snickered.
"Funny," Prowl returned flatly. "And yes, I could hear you. If you two ever bring your disgusting little... activities into my office, I will personally tear you limb from limb." Drift's face flushed bright pink.
"Jealous?" Rodimus mocked, making dead eye contact with and air-thrust motions at Prowl. Drift smiled again, joining in with the air-thrust taunting. Both mechs made obnoxious exaggerated moans as Prowl sighed and covered his face with his hand.
"Juvenile," he mumbled. "You two seem to have forgotten you're here to discuss something that's actually important."
"Didn't forget. Just elected to ignore," Rodimus huffed. Drift had stopped the incredibly immature taunt, but Rodimus showed no signs of even yielding.
"C'mon, Rod. That's probably enough," Drift whispered, stopping Rodimus with a quick jab to his waist with an elbow.
"Fine," Rodimus groaned in response, easing off the gesture. "So, Prowl. Anything else to convince us with?"
"I've been collaborating with some other Autobots who are coming with you on your little adventure over the course of a few weeks. We have a containment plan. Overlord will be confined to a slow cell attached to the lowest level of your ship, and kept secret from anyone not directly involved."
"Slow cell?"
"Brainstorm's been working on it. I have no idea how it works, but the general premise is that time passes slower for anyone inside."
"Pretty sure that's impossible, but go on." Rodimus placed a hand tentatively to his mouth, glancing over to Drift, who watched Prowl intently.
"It's attachable to and detachable from the ship, in case emergency ejection is necessary. We've got some duobots willing to get him onboard discreetly."
"Duobots? Who else knows about this already?" Drift inquired, crossing his arms. "Retrospectively, you probably shouldn't have told people that Overlord's intact until you were sure that everyone in your plan was willing to participate."
"I'm positive everyone'll be willing eventually, Drift," Prowl murmured. "Only a few select people know. You two, those duobots, Brainstorm, and Chromedome. All of whom are leaving with you."
"What are we supposed to do with Overlord?" Rodimus asked. "Are we just holding him for you? Rather have him drifting through space than on Cybertron?"
"No, Rodimus," Prowl sighed. "You've met Chromedome, correct?"
"Yeah. Mnemosurgeon with the tiny conjunx?" Drift replied, making a height estimate gesture with his hand.
"Yes." Prowl grimaced. "I've tried to convince him to use his magic fingers on Overlord. Crack him open, memories and all. Chromedome says he's given that up. What I'm hoping is going to happen is; you begin your quest with Overlord in the basement, and eventually bring Chromedome around into... participating."
"Sounds really dangerous," Rodimus remarked. "Sticking your fingers in the back of the neck of Overlord. While he's still alive. That's something you can't even ask of someone with a death wish."
"It's absolutely dangerous. Less so for an expert like Chromedome, though. The nutter building the slow cell insisted on naming this endeavour Project: Total Insanity, or... Damn, what was the other one? Project: Asking for Trouble. Clever," Prowl muttered.
Rodimus still looked apprehensive, casting a quick look at Drift, who was staring at his pedes again. "And you're sure there's no way he could possibly kill anyone?"
"Positive. The slow cell is locked with a code that'll be given to three people at a maximum."
"Okay," Rodimus sighed.
"Okay what?"
"Okay, I'll do it." He looked up at Prowl. "You're right. We... we might need a phase-sixer someday."
"Fantastic," Prowl sneered, placing a hand on Rodimus' shoulder and grinning in that existentially mocking way. "Glad to see that you've got enough steel to be able to take on some responsibility."
"Shut up before I change my mind," Rodimus hissed through gritted teeth. Drift turned slowly to look at him with narrowed optics. He eased from his almost immediate fury. "I won't regret this, will I?"
"Of course not. The duobots'll have him attached before launch, and Brainstorm will take care of the rest. All you two have to do is keep it secret and bring Chromedome up to speed at some point."
"What if we can't get Chromedome to do it?" Drift asked.
"You will. Or, rather, you'd better." Rodimus and Drift exchanged a worried glance, letting an extremely awkward silence pause the conversation.
"Right. Okay, then, um..." Rodimus stuttered.
"Good luck, Rodimus," Prowl sighed.
"Excuse me?"
"On your quest. Good luck. You'll need it, I think."
"Huh. I never expected you to say anything nice to me ever, but, uh. Thanks. Good luck to you as well. Rebuilding Cybertron and all."
"Thank you."
Rodimus jerked a thumb to the exit further down the corridor. "Should we leave? Or did you need anything else?"
"You can leave." Prowl shuttered his optics and shooed them with one hand. "Don't screw me on this, boys."
"Got it," Rodimus confirmed, nodding hastily and starting to move towards the door with Drift. "See ya."